Drags
by WriteMessyShit
Summary: She takes a drag from his cigarette and watches his lips in the dark car.
1. Drags

The desert passes by, covered in a blanket of black darkness. From the back seat, slouched deep down in the cushion, she watches the dash. Every once in a while, blinding headlights come over a hill in the distance, but without them, the road looks navy. Boxy blue numbers and letters light up the radio display, while low, slow music plays softly above the hum of the engine. Each crack in the road causes the luggage in the back seat to shift. They have four more hours to go.

Her eyes barely stay open. She almost falls asleep, until he cracks his window, and the sound of rushing air wakes her up. The wind hits her tired eyes. She hears a lighter clicking, and then, the smell of tobacco smoke meets her. She doesn't know Grimmjow very well. He's only a friend of Ichigo's, from college or something. He doesn't say much. But he does glance at her every so often, in a lingering way. She likes that. She likes him.

He offers the cigarette to Ichigo in the driver's seat. After being declined, Grimmjow turns back to her. He holds it out to her between his thumb and fingers. She's never smoked before. She fights to stay awake.

"I don't know how."

He turns around more. His face is dark, but she can see a dim light in his eyes. The faint outline of his lips moves.

"Hold this end in your mouth." She leans forward and takes it. She puts the filter to her lips. He watches her. "Breathe in halfway, just into your mouth. Hold it." She takes a drag. The butt lights up a faint red. She watches the end, and then gazes at him through the darkness. "Take out the cig. Breathe in the rest." Warmth and calmness blur her mind. "Out."

A puff of smoke fades the darkness between them. His eyes rest on her for way too long. The car is serene. Kissing him would feel soft.

"Good?" he asks softly.

"Yeah," she whispers. She leans forward again. As she hands him the cigarette, his fingers touch hers. She's already close enough. Her lips brush his. It feels beautiful: indescribably soft, plush. They're gone in a moment. As she leans away, his eyes, intense, burn through her, spurning her back. She kisses him again. His tongue brushes her bottom lip. She pulls away again, her cheeks hot. She sinks back into the seat. Ichigo hasn't noticed. Quietly, they drive on.


	2. I'm Sorry, Mom

**Summary:** _Inside his dark hotel room, the adventure continues._

**Author's Note:** _It's in first person POV because it felt more natural to write, sorry for the abrupt change lol. Hope you enjoy._

* * *

I don't know why I'm attracted to smokers. Perhaps it's because they're not as pious as the people who swear off smoking for their whole lives. Some part of me thinks a smoker wouldn't be so quick to condemn me for anything, for they know that they've made choices just like mine. They're willing to admit their failures and keep right on doing them. They're willing to refuse to conform even when it kills them. So, they certainly won't judge me.

In the dark room, he doesn't question me for straddling him, when not hours before, I had met him for the first time in the airport. He doesn't judge my fervor, my hands running through his styled hair, messing up his hard work. He doesn't mind when I bite too hard on his full lips, he doesn't mind the sway of my hips on his pants. Maybe it's because he's on his second beer. There's a taste in his mouth, the mixture of Corona and tobacco, that only spurns me further, an arousal I could never even _hope _to explain to my mother. It's never who I thought I would be, and yet here I am.

I don't know why, but he lets me pin him down on the bed and ravage him. Maybe he enjoys me that much. The warmth between my legs is met by his torso, and every once in a while, his leg brushes up, and it drives me harder. I bite into the base of his neck, pulling hard at his collar, and he lets out a moan. He doesn't even try to hide it. His hands squeeze me, pulling me in tightly. He wants to be overwhelmed by me. He doesn't hide it; he's unashamed. He wants me.

I take off my pants, and his hands go to work. He rubs up my thighs, around my butt, squeezing whatever bit of skin he can. Then, tenderly, his fingers find my clit. He watches my eyes light up. My back arches into his bent knees. His other hand rubs over a breast. My mind melts. My face curls into pained desire. His smile grows, his gaze fixated on my face. He wants to see exactly what he can make me feel. When it's all clearly too much for me, he pulls my hips up to his face, and for the next few minutes, I struggle to remain upright.

When he finishes me, he stands. My cum runs down his jaw and onto his chest. He kisses me sweetly, wetly, and walks to the window. There, he lights up a cigarette, sitting in the chair by the balcony window. The moon is full tonight, shining a pale white light on the parking lot below. I'm not finished. Once I've caught my breath, I go to him, stand him up, and undo his bulging pants. His arm wraps around me as I work. His eyes meet mine the whole time, so naturally. He blows smoke into my mouth, kissing my lower lip. He moans into my mouth. My burning below is unsatisfied; worsened. My free hand tightens around the back of his neck. He puts down his cigarette.


End file.
